To Destroy the Past
by Holl-e-wood
Summary: one shot. Written after HBP, this was my speculation into a small part of the childhood of Severus Sanpe.


To Destroy the Past

_A speculative fan fiction attempting to fill in a missing piece in the life of Severus Snape_

For the first time, all the walls were gone—the last boundaries between him and the world had been taken away. Yet, he did not fear the world so much as he once had. Now, only one word reverberated in his mind: _freedom_. The one true terror of his life was gone, leaving him alone—and alone, he could survive the world.

Severus Snape had just turned eleven, and his father was dead.

He stood alone in the middle of the dark, dreary house, clutching a letter of heavy parchment written in green ink, staring at its seal—a great H, surrounded by a lion, eagle, badger, and snake. He looked for a long time at the slightly smudged figures that represented each of the four houses at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, savoring the knowledge that he would be joining the most powerful people in the world, and pondering the green snake that was the symbol of this—and his freedom.

A distant noise started him out of his reverie, and Severus's thoughts turned dark as he looked up again, remembering why he had come back here.

The Snape family—father, son, and long-vanished mother—had been poor but stand-off-ish, and not very well liked. The small run-down, dilapidated house that had been theirs reflected their dismal lives, so , when it was suddenly repossessed by the bank in lieu of payment of past bills, Severus was not sorry at all to see it go.

He intended to pack up a few personal belongings, leave his fathers things for whatever scavengers might claim them, and vanish. The filthy, ridiculous muggles would never know what happened to him—nor, he realized, would they care. The thought gave him a small measure of grim satisfaction.

Standing alone in the middle of his room, Severus looked around with distaste. A feeling of neglect and dark hostility, the same atmosphere which overshadowed the rest of the house, hung in the air, and suddenly, as far as Severus was concerned, the whole house could burn for all he cared.

He was halfway out the door when he remembered about the trunk.

Severus's mother had left four long years ago, and so for four long years Severus had had plenty of time to ponder why so powerful a witch would marry a worthless muggle like his father, why she had refused to talk to him about it when she was still there, why she left so suddenly—without taking him… The answers he supplied never satisfied him, and though he had stopped caring that she apparently did not love him, and had even made his peace with the fact that she was most likely dead, still he craved answers. He wanted to know the reason why, so he could stop wondering—so he could forget. And the one thing that might give him those answers, the one thing his mother had left behind, was the one thing his father had kept out of his reach.

But now…

The door to his father's room was locked, and Severus knew from experience the chain would be drawn inside and the window firmly latched. But he had had four years to plan for this day. Severus descended into the cellar, found a certain old and rusty axe, walked calmly around the side of the house, and promptly beat the window in. The sound of breaking glass and the feeling of power that surged through him each time he swung the long-dull blade into the dirty, cheap glass put a smirk on his face. He took a dull pleasure in this small revenge, this small outlet of anger. He was breaking the chains that held him to this place. Today he would kill the nightmares that haunted him.

He crawled through carefully. The room smelled musty, and long cobwebs and trails of dust sifted over everything. There was a bed in the room, the only used-looking item, and a small wardrobe, but no other furnishings.

The trunk was under the bed.

It was old—that much was obvious. A heavy padlock was all that stood now between Severus and his answers. He paused for a moment, taking it all in, locking down any uncertainty in his mind and pushing away any nervousness. He looked around coldly, wondering if his father had kept the key. He could pick the lock, of course, but that would take time—time he did not want to waste. He stood abruptly, crossed the room and threw open the wardrobe doors, and, to his relief, spotted the key in its dusty bottom.

The key fitted into the lock smoothly, and with a groaning creak Severus pried the lid of the trunk open.

For a moment, he tasted bitter disappointment. There appeared to be no pictures or letters or explanations of any kind, just books—some of them old school books, by the looks of it. _Utter rubbish,_ he thought with contempt. _Worthless…_

Then the titles of some of these books began to catch his eye.

Potions Moste Potente: Ensnare the Senses of Your Enemies… Curses and Hexes: The Best of the Forbidden…. The Dark Arts: Our Misunderstood Ally….

_It's power_, Severus realized with a growing sense of wonder. _That's what these books are—the power to never be threatened or pushed around again, the power to ally yourself with those who have even more power, who understand the world's_ _darkness as I do… who might understand my pain…_

He quickly sifted through the rest of the books, dropping them into two piles on the thinly carpeted floor: destroy or keep.

And then—in the very bottom…

Severus picked up the wand slowly, fighting to control his excitement.

A wand. His mother's.

No—_his_.

The things he could accomplish now…

The small bag of sickles and knuts was secondary to the magic now at his fingertips, but Severus pocketed it carefully, knowing it would be useful soon enough—but the magic had to come first.

He started small, with just the simplest spells, even deigning to look through some of the old school books, even the defense against the dark arts books, but he quickly discarded most of them as lame and uninformed compared to the others.

It was very late, or very early, when Severus finally felt ready. He repacked the trunk slowly, putting in only those books which he thought might prove most useful, wherever he ended up staying before term started. At long last, he shut it, locked it, and, ignoring the broken window with its dangerously sharp glass fragments, exited into the hallway and then through the back door. Setting the trunk carefully down, Severus raised his wand and aimed it at the wooden door.

"_Incendio!"_

The spell wasn't very strong, for his power was erratic and untrained, but a few sparks were enough. The house lit up with all the power of the inferno.

He took his trunk and turned his back on the smoking house, feeling utterly victorious—and, somehow, slightly empty. But he filled the emptiness with the thoughts of what he knew—what he would learn—of where he was going. His last weakness was gone. Nothing could hold him back now.

Severus Snape walked away with his head held high and no intention of ever coming back, leaving the destroying flames alone as they slowly consumed his past.


End file.
